Light Of Loreandril (49 page)

Moments later, the karzon and khalit joined the fray. With their raven robes billowing in the pounding wind and snow, seated upon their unearthly, scaly mounts, jagged blades held high above their cloaked heads, the karzon were a terrifying sight. Cradon fell to one knee in fear only to be pulled up by the strong hand of Nilean.

“Stand by me! Do not leave my side!” His words were almost lost in the angry gale and inky darkness.

Cradon turned to see the elf, his silver sword now drawn, casting a white scar of light through the darkness. His green travel cloak was cast athis feet and his white armour shone brightly, the star of Loreandril twinkling like a beacon. For a moment the enemy paused, fearing the elf and his light, giving the remaining handful of gnomes time to scramble towards the two. Their captain and sergeants dead they now looked to Nilean for orders.

The pause in the siege did not last long but it was time enough for the travellers to regroup and find new courage against the dark foe.

Shaking off their own fear, the enemy attacked with new fervour. Swords and axes clashed against ragged fur and scales. Blood sprayed from hewn flesh. Surrounded by darkness there was no way of telling how many enemies were upon them.

As the travellers’ numbers began to dwindle, the gnomes picked off one by one, the enemies’ bodies began to mount up. With most of them slain, the remaining ones turned tail and ran for their flea-ridden lives. Several of the khalit also lay dying, their scaly bodies jerking spasmodically in the gloom.

Cradon could have sworn Nilean had killed at least three karzon, his white blade tearing at their ebony robes. By the blood curdling, deafening screams of the foul beings, he was certain they were dead. Yet there was no sign of their bodies, only tatters of robes as if they had melted into the snow, back to the dark earth from which they were born.

They were tiring from the continuous onslaught. Cradon’s arms were aching from wielding his sword, his back wound screaming in agony. It had felt like hours. Now they were completely drowning in blackness, even the Elven light of Nilean seemed to be dwindling as he tired. And then, only Nilean and Cradon remained and all hope seemed lost. They stood back to back waiting for the next beast to approach and fall on their blades.

Another karzon appeared from the darkness, its fur-lined robes billowing in the wind. Holding high a jagged, blood-soaked blade it swung for Cradon, forcing him to roll to the left, separating him from Nilean. He had no time to stand before the next blow came from above. Their swords clashed and locked, sending sparks of chipped metal into the blackness. Cradon slid his blade to the hilt of the karzon’s sword, using the locked weapons as leverage to stand. Cradon thought himself tall, but in the shadow of the karzon he was dwarfed. The movement pulled them so close he could smell the stench of rotten meat on its breath.

Hunching forward the karzon hissed, and then a slow whining screech made Cradon clench his jaws and squeeze his eyes shut for the pain. Resisting the urge to fall to his knees and wrap his arms around his head he twisted his blade and flung his elbow into the karzon’s hooded face. The startled karzon staggered, its head snapping back. In that instant the karzon lost its mind grip on the black magic that hid its true form. As its hood slid back the hideous, unearthly face was exposed.

Cradon had always assumed they were men, but before him stood something unimaginable for even the most creative of minds. It took his breath and as if he had been punched in the stomach he gasped, falling to his knees. The karzon stepped forward and it was all Cradon could do to look back up. It had large black eyes set deep into scoops on a ghostly, grey face, with scaly skin so thin it was opaque. Black veins and capillaries visibly pulsated, etching out intricate patterns of an unknown, black language. The nose and mouth were fused together in a mass of jagged teeth, behind which a large, long, black tongue writhed and salivated at the smell of blood. Even the ears were disturbingly grotesque, lying like scaly flat mounds that coiled round the hairless head towards the bony nape of the neck.

Cradon could look no more and paralysed by fear he cowered at the karzon’s feet.

Suddenly the ground beneath them began to tremble and there was a sound like pounding, roaring waves filling the air all around. It broke the fighting frenzy and in a bewildered daze enemy and foe stood side by side with bated breath. Then it hit them. First a cold gush of air pummelled their bodies, followed by a wall of snow that appeared from nowhere. The raucous noise of the fray had sent reverberations up the mountainside which accumulated into one catastrophic avalanche.

The air in Cradon’s chest was pounded from him as if he had been slammed against a stone wall and he had a strange sensation of being thrown around like a rag doll. The flood of snow and rock carried away everyone and everything standing in that ravine. Cradon lost all sense of time and direction, engulfed in deafening, cold noise.

It ended as quickly as it had begun. The river of material came to a halt in a lower valley that gently led to the very foot of the mountains, carrying its load nearly three leagues. Cradon remembered only the noise stopping, feeling like he was trapped in a vice, and then nothing, only whiteness.

Once Nilean regained consciousness he managed to dig his way up to the surface. Exhausted and breathless, every bone in his body bruised and twisted, there was nothing he could do except lie still, looking up into the black sky. He had no idea how long he had lain unconscious. He was unsure whether the karzon were still close or whether it really was night. He searched his heart, trying to sense their black evilness, but could feel nothing.

The elf suddenly became aware of a presence approaching. There was a gentle huff and a puff of warm air brushed his face, followed by a velvety nuzzle of a soft nose. He knew immediately it was his mare. She had found him. There was a second nuzzle, this time from the other side and he felt blindly with his hand to feel the soft mane of Sonda.

Somehow they had escaped the avalanche and much to Nilean’s relief and delight had retained their saddlebags. He felt encouraged when he realised had the horses not run the Aeonorgal might have fallen into once more enemy hands.

With renewed hope the elf found the energy to roll over and begin crawling around, groping in the darkness, feeling the snow’s surface for any sign of Cradon. The horses followed him, scuffing the tumultuous powder as if trying to help him search. Finally, to his relief he found a small corner of Cradon’s green travel cloak poking through the broken surface of snow. He began digging frantically, a resurgence of energy fuelled by adrenaline. He reached Cradon’s feet first. The boy was suspended upside down, at an angle in the snow. The elf dug a little further and began pulling the clansman out, digging his heels into the soft surface to get leverage.

At last Cradon’s limp body slid out, sending Nilean backwards. He scrambled round to Cradon’s head and began clearing the encasing of snow from his face. There was no response. He shouted his name several times and then began shaking the boy.

“Cradon! Cradon, can you hear me?”

The voice sounded distant and muffled. Cradon tried to blink but felt nothing except snow. The white powder filled every orifice. As he tried to breathe in to reply the snow stifled his nostrils and mouth. He had no recollection of where he was. His body had a strange sense of being suspended in mid-air. All he could remember was that
thing
standing over him preparing to kill him, after that his memory was just a black hole.

Finally, with a spluttering cough expelling snow, Cradon took a deep breath. He gasped, his heart pounding and lungs burning, blinking the snow from his eyelashes. Overjoyed, Nilean grabbed the boy’s shoulders and hugged him tightly, laughing. Even the horses nuzzled Cradon’s icicle-filled hair.

“Where…….What?” Cradon choked, his eyes wide, still terrified by his last memory.

“An avalanche! It saved us!” cried Nilean joyously, still hugging the boy.

“Saved us? I feel like it killed me!”

“You’re alive aren’t you? Had the avalanche not hit when it did, nothing could have saved us! It truly was a blessing from the mountain!” The elf finally released the boy.

“What about……the others?” stammered Cradon, still struggling to get his words out. His body and brain felt numb with coldness and fear.

“The dark ones?” whispered Nilean. “Of their fate I cannot be certain, but I do not sense them near. I believe the avalanche killed them.”

“They weren’t men. What are they?”

“It is best you do not linger on thoughts of them. They are the spawn of the enemy and do not belong in this world.”

“Are we safe?” asked Cradon feebly. He was calming down, the nightmarish vision fading as he began to absorb his surroundings.

“Not safe enough to linger. I’m afraid we need to move on.”

Cradon moaned, resisting the elf as he tried to help him stand. Finally, he gave in and staggered to his feet. A plume of snow fell from him as he shook his clothes.

“Do you think you can ride?”

“Nothing appears broken if that’s what you are asking!” Cradon replied as he heaved himself into Sonda’s saddle. Nilean checked the young Hundlinger was secure before mounting his own horse.

Riding slowly the horses nimbly picked their way through the snowfield. Even in the darkness the white blanket reflected light. All about them were traces of the avalanche’s destruction: scattered axes and shields, the odd glove or helmet. It was as though they were riding through a field of death. There were no words to express their feelings.

In silence, they continued their long journey back to Loreandril with their precious cargo still safely hidden in the saddlebags.

“Come quickly! There is news!” Jaidan shouted through the curtain door of the tent.

Nechan and Gaular quickly jumped up to join Jaidan. As they sprinted through the Elven streets Nechan grasped the hilt of his sword to prevent it clanging against his leg.

It had been a few weeks since he first started his combat lessons and now his sword remained permanently attached to his belt. He wore it with pride, feeling his strength and skill grow daily, although he had not yet beaten Eilendan. The boy showed the greatest potential with the bow, hitting the target every time, even from great distances. The Elvish congregation that gathered daily to watch his progress now referred to him as
Elio’l Elvini,
which meant E
lvish eyes,
because of his pinpoint-sharp bowmanship.

“Jaidan, what’s going on? What news?” panted Nechan, trying to keep pace with the long legs and fast pace of Jaidan.

“Messengers have started to return. They bring news of our allies!”

With a sudden burst of additional speed Jaidan sprinted even faster as if he were running over hot coals. They soon left the cumbersome dwarf behind to plod along at his own pace. Although very strong, he lacked speed, especially over long distances.

The council chamber guards allowed them to pass without hesitation. Several white horses stood champing their bits impatiently, their coats still glistening with steaming sweat and hocks caked in mud. Clearly they had just returned from long rides in the wilderness.

Unusually the council was not being held on the second tier, assumedly because there were too many attendees. Jaidan caught Eilendan’s attention. He came over immediately to join them. There was an energetic buzz of tension in the air.

“Three messengers have returned,” explained Eilendan.

“Where from?” whispered Jaidan, trying to strain his ears to hear what was being said.

“The first travelled far from the outlands, he found several clansman tribes.”

“Brathunders?”

Eilendan nodded. “They are helping to spread the word but nearly two hundred have pledged their allegiance and are already on their way.”

“Two hundred? That is not even enough for the first charge!” exclaimed Gaular. His raised voice turned several heads. Eilendan nodded, apologising.

“The second messenger is from the wetlands to the far east. He too returns with similar news.”

“I thought there were few of your clan left?” whispered Nechan to Jaidan.

“We are spread far and wide, our numbers are unknown, even to me!”

“And the third?” continued Gaular.

“You will be pleased to know the third messenger brings news from your kin, the Dun Dwarves.”

“And?”

“Well they have already dispatched their forces, nearly one and a half thousand in strength!”

“Will there be more to follow. What of the Danin and Minda Dwarves? I assume you sent word to them also?”

“Of course, but as you well know, they hide themselves deep underground and prove more difficult to find. The messenger has said that your kin will help contact them.”

Gaular grunted. He was not too fond of the other Dwarven kin.

“Is there any more news from any other messengers?” asked Jaidan. Although he spoke a few words of basic Elvish he could not follow the quickly spoken reports from the messengers.

Eilendan shook his head. “The council have just dismissed everyone.”

“That’s it?” snapped Gaular.

“Yes! For now! But have patience.”

Following the small crowd out of the council chambers they began returning to their tent. The electric tension had spilled onto the streets.

“Who are the Danin and Minda Dwarves?” enquired Nechan, desperately trying to keep up with the conversation and stay involved.

“I am of the Dun. They are different types of Dwarves.”

“How are they different?”

Gaular sighed, “Well…… Dun Dwarves are large, like me. We utilise our strength and size. Danin are…..I guess you would say….. of a higher class, and Minda even more so. They perform different roles from Dun.”

“What do you mean
higher class?
” Nechan was intrigued.

Gaular did not answer. It was clearly a sore spot for him.